


The Wages of Sin

by amberfox17



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Internal Conflict, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, PWP, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:38:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Athelstan is a wicked, wicked sinner: this he knows is true, as it is for all men.</i><br/>Living with Ragnar and Lagertha, Athelstan falls prey to the seven deadly sins. PWP with a happy ending, so less serious than it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wages of Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for use of religious imagery, biblical quotations and (initially) canon-era attitudes concerning sin and Christianity.

**Romans 3:23** For _everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God’s glorious standard._

Athelstan is a wicked, wicked sinner: this he knows is true, as it is for all men. He recites his sins silently to himself in the long nights, clinging to their private repetition as he clings to the psalms and prayers that do little to comfort him. His litany feels like a chain, like the halter that Ragnar dragged him along by when he was first taken, a great weight and burden upon his soul. He wondered, at first, if it was God’s will for him to die a martyr in foreign lands, or if God had meant for him to do as the saints had done in England, and spread the word of God to the heathens. Now, he does not have the time or will to think of teaching true faith to the northmen, for all his thoughts are of the wickedness in his own soul, and of how to keep his own faith in the face of the unrelenting kindness of his supposed masters. For Ragnar and Lagertha are kind, and gentle, and giving, and as time passes he feels a place being made for him here at the edge of the world, space made in a family and the hand of friendship – and more - offered with an easy, seductive smile. How can he possibly be a messenger for the Lord when every day he slides further and further from his old life, from his contemplation of God and everything he knew? Instead, every night he prays for forgiveness, for release, for this cup to pass from him.

 _Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned_.

 _The sin of wrath_. Today, I was angry when Rollo sneered at me, when he spoke as if I was not present, and for the way he looked at Lagertha when Ragnar could not see. I hated the way he made Lagertha tense when she spoke to him, her shoulders stiff and eyes hard, and the plea for my silence when she saw that I saw. I hated how Ragnar smiled and put his arm around Rollo, free and easy and loving, honouring his brother with a trust that snake does not deserve. And most of all, I hated that I could do nothing, that although Ragnar has made it clear that I am no longer a slave, in the eyes of Rollo and the warriors, I am still nothing, a man without honour, barely a man at all.

 _The sin of pride_. Tonight, after I put the children to bed with tales of the word of God, Ragnar clapped me on the shoulder and told me that I was a great storyteller, a skald in the making. His eyes were warm and his praise sincere, and I was glad, so glad that I had worth in his eyes. I was proud that Lagertha nodded, that she asked me to sing softly for her, and so proud that instead of one of my traveller’s tales, I had learnt enough of the _Thrymskvitha_ to chant it for her, well enough to make her face light up with astonishment and pleasure. They are pleased with my skill with their language, with the way I care for their children, for the efforts I make in their household, and I am proud, so proud, that I am more than just a slave to them.

 _The sin of greed, and of envy_. Tonight, I saw Ragnar stroke his fingers along Lagertha’s skin as I sang, and saw that her hand too crept to Ragnar’s thigh and they smiled at each other, gazes heavy with promise, and I was envious of their looks and their touches, and desired above all that they should turn their eyes and hands on me. I was greedy for their attention and envious of their closeness, of their languid teasing, of how they revealed as much in the anticipation of their pleasures as the act, and I wanted to touch and be touched, to know them as they know each other, confident and shameless and joyful. I wanted Lagertha to look at me as she looks at Ragnar, to let my hands roam over her body in play as well as in lust, to have her huff and feign irritation as I pat her on the rump when she leans over the table. And worse yet, I longed for Ragnar to tease and infuriate me as he does her, his smile light but his eyes dark, to know what it is like to have him lift me and carry me to bed, laughing at my mock-struggles.

 _The sin of lust, and gluttony_. Tonight, I sat in shame and desperation as Ragnar and Lagertha coupled, a fire burning within me at every gasp and moan, and, God forgive me, I could not help but touch myself, wishing that they would ask me again to join them, that I might enjoy both them at once. I did not watch, I did not dare allow myself to, but I could listen and my mind filled with images at the sound of flesh against flesh, the pants and small cries that quickly became shouts and screams. They care not for who can hear them, and their lewdness stimulated my own, as I imagined being pressed between them, Ragnar sheathed within me as I am enveloped by Lagertha. Or having Lagertha ride me, as I have seen her do to Ragnar, of being helpless beneath her as she drags the same sounds from me that fall from Ragnar’s mouth. Of being used and spent and able to do nothing but watch as Ragnar takes her, or takes me, as I, as I press my face between Lagertha’s legs, tasting her, her hands tight her in my hair as they were in Ragnar’s when I first saw them perform this act, oh, perhaps to taste her and then Ragnar, to please both of them with my mouth, and then to kiss them, oh, as they stroked me, harder and faster and -

 _The sin of sloth._ And in the aftermath of that great sin, I did not think of my nightly prayers, or proper penance, or any holy thing, but lay in selfish bliss, and thought only on Ragnar and Lagertha as I fell into sleep. And it was in my mind that perhaps to lie with them, as they had asked, would be no great sin after all.

In the light of dawn, as he washes in the frigid waters of the lake before Ragnar and his family awaken, Athelstan knows that for every sin, there must be a penance, and that there is much he must atone for. He is alone among heathens, and he prays for deliverance, for a sign, for the clarity and strength of will to keep faith and hope and the light of God’s love alive in his heart. He prays and vows and suffers, and his sins are always at the forefront of his mind, so that he can never forget that they are sins, that they are wicked temptations to be withstood, sinful and forbidden and …

He does not realise he is trembling until the warmth of Ragnar’s and Lagertha’s hands on his shoulders steadies him.

**1 Corinthians 13:13** _And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love_

Athelstan knows this is God’s plan for him in this strange and troublesome place: that this is the right path through the thorns of his predicament. He has held fast to his faith, and to the comfort and hope it has given him. For he has come to see that God is faith, and hope, and love, most of all love, and that it is love that surrounds and protects him in this harsh, northern land. It is love that has brought him to this bed, to kneel joyfully before this man and woman, to worship their flesh and to share the joys of creation with them. He is a willing glutton now, feasting on Lagertha as if he was starving, as if they had not sinned just last night and would no doubt do so again tomorrow. How proud he is, as Lagertha gasps and shudders, her juices overflowing on his tongue as she screams out her pleasure. His lust flares higher as Ragnar moves towards her, rolling her over and helping her get on all fours before them, so he can slide into her, groaning as he does so, his eyes clouded with the sheer pleasure he finds in his wife.  

Athelstan cannot help but feel a pang of envy, both for the desire to take and be taken, and for Lagertha’s wondrous body as Ragnar reaches between her legs, for she of course is not yet spent, and Ragnar knows just how to bring her to a climax for a second time. It is a brief pang, however, as he has more pressing concerns, arranging himself in front of Lagertha, who smiles wickedly at him, flicking her tongue out to tease the tip of his cock. Ah, but he is greedy, pushing forward, watching his cock slide between her lips, unable just to wait and watch. Ragnar is panting hard now, his hand working furiously between Lagertha’s legs as he pounds into her mercilessly, and Athelstan is proud in the knowledge that it is watching him bring pleasure to Lagertha that drives Ragnar to this furious passion. Ragnar is in no mood for a long, slow coupling tonight, and Athelstan cannot say he wishes otherwise, not when every powerful thrust jolts Lagertha forward onto his own cock without any movement on his part.

They are both gasping for air, Lagertha’s mouth half open as she gasps around him, wet and sloppy and perfect, just perfect, even as she releases him to cry out Ragnar’s name. Her climax has barely passed when Ragnar shouts aloud and slumps against her, pressing lazy, wet kisses onto her back, murmuring obscenities and endearments meant for both her and Athelstan. She tolerates his weight and indolence only briefly before bucking him off; he rolls away easily and drags himself over to Athelstan, who is still hard and impatient and wanting. Ragnar laughs at the frustration obvious on Athelstan’s face, but he is not minded to be cruel; he pulls and pushes at him until Athelstan is seated on his lap, facing a sated but attentive Lagertha. One huge hand is swiftly wrapped around his still wet length and Athelstan whimpers and moans as Ragnar strokes him swiftly to completion, Lagertha’s sly whisperings and lingering kisses speeding him to an intense release.

In the aftermath, he drifts in blissful sloth, curled between Ragnar and Lagertha, surrounded and enveloped in flesh and sin and love, oh, so much love.


End file.
